Jack Junior approached a distinguished, silver-haired gentleman chatting with John Clark. He offered his hand. “Captain Miller, good to see you again. I just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”
The airline pilot smiled. “I understand, on both counts.”
“How do you two know each other?” Clark asked.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Jack said.
“David and I go back a long way, don’t we?”
“When dinosaurs ruled the earth.”
The two old vets shared a chuckle, and obviously an unspoken bond.
“And you both knew Paul,” Jack said.
“All of us old-timers knew Paul Brown,” Miller said. He glanced back at the grave. “It’s a shame more people won’t.”
Jack shook Miller’s hand again. “Take care.”
“Same to you.”
Jack drifted over to the other gravestones, weathered but well maintained. A lot of Browns. Paul was laid to rest next to Carmen, but he was surrounded by five generations of family. A long history in one place. Jack felt a hand on his shoulder.
“How’s that busted wing coming along?”
Gerry’s voice was unmistakable. Jack turned around and lifted his cast. “You know, this thing would make a pretty good weapon.”
“I bet. And how are you doing, son?”
Jack shrugged. “Can’t shake the feeling I let Paul down.”
Gerry shook his head. “You were out of commission. Paul stood up when it counted.” He nodded back toward the grave. “He’s with Carmen now. He would tell you everything is as it should be. The two of you did a helluva job. Thanks to you, the world economy is still humming along, and the world never knew about it. That’s a good day’s work, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Paul was the one who figured it out while I was running around chasing my own tail. Speaking of which, any news on Yong Fairchild?”
“Probably in China for the foreseeable future. The Dalfan deal with Marin Aerospace is dead in the water. Dalfan stock took a hit because of that, but not too bad, and the Singapore authorities are combing over their databases and records to see what Yong might have stolen. It’s a mess, but not a catastrophe, thanks to your tail chasing.”
“Thanks.”
“I just got off the line with the AG. No charges will be filed against you by the Singapore authorities for anything you did over there.”
“You read my after-action report. That’s hard to believe.”
“Dr. Fairchild is an influential man, and Lian made you out to be quite the hero. The government of Singapore is officially ‘grateful for your service.’”
Jack shrugged. “I’ll take it.”
Gerry pulled him closer. “And the thirty million dollars of emergency aid we’re sending them for the cleanup effort didn’t hurt any, either.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”
“They need the help after that typhoon, believe me.” Gerry turned serious. “I also wanted you to hear this from me. Rhodes cut a deal with the FBI.”
“What?”
“It’s the way the world works, son. You bait the hook with the little fish in order to land the big fish. That software on Rhodes’s USB drive was dangerous stuff. Our people are sure it was written by the North Koreans, but Rhodes never dealt with them, only a middleman by the name of Zvezdev. We need to roll up Zvezdev if we’re going to nail Choi’s hide to the wall. So it’s going to be fifteen years at a Club Fed for the ex-senator, seven with good behavior.”
Jack shook his head, disgusted. “Can I at least get in on the action?”
“I’m afraid not. Mary Pat is running the Zvezdev operation. But I’m certain we’ll have some black-side work coming up soon — if you’re up for it.”
Jack grinned. “Are you kidding? A black-side op sounds great. After a white-side gig like Singapore, I could use the rest.”
79
Zvezdev had purchased the modest stone-and-red-tiled home because it was on the Adriatic Coast and he loved the sunset, and also because it was near his favorite beach bar. Or at least that’s what the realtor said in her interview with the SOA, Croatia’s intelligence service.
The American team leader was on sat comms waiting for orders from DNI Foley. The seven men under his command — three Croatians, four Americans — wore tactical gear and NVGs. The team leader assured her that four hours of surveillance found no evidence of either guards or kinetic defenses.
“Place looks empty,” he reported.
Bad intel, or bad luck, Foley offered. She gave the word to go.
The breaching team went first, the others followed. They cleared each room. Nobody was there, least of all Zvezdev.
The NVGs came off and someone popped the lights on. The team leader ordered a thorough check of the house, and to bag any evidence they found. They’d all been briefed. Zvezdev was tied to a North Korean operation, and they needed to shut it down.
One of the Croatians opened the refrigerator, half looking for a cold water — or a beer. Instead, he found something else.
“What the fuck is that?” the Croatian asked the man standing next to him.
An American named Suh took the chilled jar from his hand. “Looks like kimchi.”
“What’s that?”
“Korean food. Fermented cabbage, onions, chilis — you name it.” Suh unscrewed the jar and sniffed it. “Smells funny.”
He held the jar closer to his face. Examined it closely. His eyes narrowed.
“Oh, hell no.”
The team leader broke into his comms. “Say again?”
Suh rescrewed the cap.
“I think we found Zvezdev.”